The Locket
by Paper Ballerina
Summary: My uncle says that I am like a locket but never told me why...


The Locket

_My uncle says that I am like a locket but never told me why..._

That thought alone rolls around my hollow mind like a glass eye trapped inside a wooden box as I gently lay my cheek against the wooden block. Against the soft skin of my cheek I can feel the carved and chipped wood; I've almost memorized every ugly scar against my skin because I have been practicing placing my cheek down so much. I feel all those morbid marks in the wood now as I lay my neck down now. So many scars onthe bloodied block, so many have layed their lives down before me. As my cheek rests heavily against the block, I feel the cool blade faintly caress the small strands of hair on my dainty neck as it sways impatiently above me, tracing my neck like the lingering touch of a lover. the tiny glit hairs stand up in alarm as though they are standing guard, trying vainly to protect my thin little neck. I shiver as it sways, little good my goosebumps and hackles will do me against the axe. But as I kneel in this morbid silent limbo, only one thought remains in my mind. Gone are my declarations of love towards Thomas or prayers for the king. All that remains is this; my uncle says that I am like a locket but never told me why.

Perhaps it is because I am pretty like a locket. This is plausible for I have never met anyone that has not admired or envied my beauty. The first time in my life that anyone so much as gave me a second glance was when I was only a small child at Lambeth. Cousin Anne, The queen of England, gracedus with a visit, accompanied by the rest of the proud Boleyn clan. They were dazzling, dressed in finery i could only have imagined of, I was transfixed in their glory and garishness as they disembarked from their own boat. The Dowager duchess had warned me to stay out of sight, but I could not help sneaking out of the maid's chamber to catch a peak at Anne Boleyn. I was often disobedient and naughty, but the Duchess was far too busy with her own vanity to notice most of the time. I snuck down the stairs and peered out of the window, my little oval head just peaking over the 'sill. I was spotted by Anne herself and summoned outside to meet her. I wasn't frightened, but I was painfully shy as I gazed up at her. She smiled warmly and knelt down to my level, soiling her beautiful dress on common mud.

"My, you are a pretty girl. Such hair, it's almost like strands of gold! I should like you to be one of my ladies when you are old enough. Would you like that? you'd get to wear dresses as pretty as you then!" she said with a smile before giggling warmly at my joy and excitement of such a prospect. I had never received such compliments and flattery before or the promise of such beautiful clothes. I was poor and received little and here was the Queen herselff telling me i was beautiful and I would serve her at court. Then there was Mannox.

Henry Mannox was my musician teacher at Lambeth when I was a young under his tuition he would stare at me while I would giggleas my fumbling useless fingers would make a lute shriek like a cat in a brawl. But he would just watch quietly and intently before laying his lips on mine. He would say things like I was the prettiest girl in all of England and that I was more wondrous then the moon and stars. Such things sound soppy to the sober mind, but when you are young and easily influenced they prove to intoxicate the mind with thoughts of love and bliss. He made me believe I was beautiful above all others and ever since, everyone else has steadfastly agreed. But yet, I do not believe my uncle make such a comparison to veil a complement, he is far too blunt for that.

Perhaps I am like a locket in the fact that I shine like gold. My beauty and my youth, made me radiant and irresistible as I arrived at court. Everyone at court, even the handsome debauchees as the king and Suffolk, were old and grey. The Queen, that flander's mare, was a dull little wallflower and her ladies were not much better. So into the world of decadence and mediocrity I dance, draped in shinning sunny satin and jewels glistening. No one could quite compare. Not even when I was queen and commanded my ladies to be as well dressed. But yet, this reasoning does not sit right.

Perhaps it is, just like a locket, I'm made to be worn. I was first worn by Francis Dereham. We were young sweet hearts at Lambeth, addressing each other as "husband" and "wife". We truly thought we would be in love forever and marry happily but penniless. When you are in love, you don't think about the complications, do you? regardless, we were so much in love that you wanted to express it in the ultimate fashion. We had a mock marriage before we went to bed in the stables. It hurt, causing me discomfort as I encompasseth his pulsating member awkwardly and tightly. He was proud that he was the first to wear me and when we were in the dormitory, where many naughty indecent things took place, he would wrap me around his waist and proudly wear me like a doublet for all to see. There was such a giddiness and youth in that affair that I would never again recover.

Some times I would think on it as I tried and rouse the royal member of my _real_ husband. His majesty would look at me over his growing mountain of a stomach with desire and say; "You are truly a rose. My rose without a thorn!". Seldom would he wear me, managing only when he could. I had to relay on whorish tricks that disgusted and sickened me to arouse this rotting old man. His groans and pants, revolted me behind my mask ofpleasure and obedience. But I complied so that I could be rewarded with his majesty's kindness and dresses. I needed those dresses to be pretty and to have everyone tell me I'm pretty so that I could be happy and less guilty about my revulsion at my husband. But only one person made me happy and forget about my woeful marriage ; Thomas Culpepper.

Thomas was my true love, my secret love. We held for each other such a passion and desperation that we were willing to risk everything to hold each other in a fevered embrace for only a moment. He didn't just wear me like a locket for admiration and vanity, he loved me. If I were a locket, he would have worn my under his shirt close to his heart. But that heart beats is no more and I will not be worn again, by any man.

The Axe raises from my neck, leaving it bare and vunerable.

_My uncle says that I am like a locket but never told me why. _Perhaps it is for all those reasons, my beauty, my usage my shine. The beautiful Tudor Jewel ; Katheirne Howard. But behind all those vain little reasons I finally feel the cold stab of my uncle's intention. I finally understand what he meant. I'm pretty, I'm worn, I shine but I'm ultimately empty and hollow. My rose bud mouth gapes in shock.

The axe comes down.

* * *

_AN: This was just a quick little oneshot about my favorite of the Tudor queens. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry about paragraphing, messes up my paragraphs. _


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